The Retreat
She cried well. Let out a great, big sob and then a wail and a gasp. She sniffled, breathless, the way a laughing human would.
I’d soon come to understand that to love someone in happiness, one had to meet the other person in a state of agony first. Only after a state of agony, a state of grace could erupt.
Her cries formed a song of self-directed patriotism, of prayer and anthem and symphony. Bellowing, dragged out, ragged and worn. Her cries were unbelievably loud, before a sudden onslaught of silence.
An outpour. A release. The stifling roadblock had cleared itself a path, vanishing in plain sight. Deciding whether to light itself with fireflies, melted candles, arson, or street lanterns. What difference would the method of illumination make?
Her tears filled the room like pheromones. Her longing, her despair conjoined- like twins with one body but two minds. Begging us to join her. Twisting and tormenting, separate but united, a creature of mystery and keen containment. I joined her, welling up at the sight of such raw absurdity and honesty. Overflowing and overwhelmed.
Our first date, considered as such by solely my narrative, was during this retreat, titled “Emovere,” meaning to be “moved” in Latin. “Lacrima” was a close contender, but it lacked the vision of rivers. River or not, I knew that I couldn’t handle a silent retreat. I wanted to be moved- upstream or down, didn’t matter. The public whimpering would have to do.
The river was the main event. Not the crying, I mean. Instead of a lake, or a stream, or an ocean or bay, there flowed a humble, earthly river at Emovere.
I had never fallen in love with somebody based on their crying. Most criers are quite ugly, in fact. But Helen, she transcended space and time with her overwhelming sense of feeling, with every inch of her mucus-drowning vocal chords. There was no mascara pooling around her eyes, but some of her moisturizer held a gob of saltwater near the crinkles of her eyes.
“Crying is a natural painkiller, releasing endorphins and oxytocin, fosters social connection, healing from trauma, and mood elevation/general healing,” said Zahra the facilitator.
“Humans are the only animals capable of shedding emotional tears,” she concluded.
I am surrounded by men on this retreat and couldn’t be happier. Women are four times as likely to cry as men are, and growing up fatherless with two emotional lesbians, I craved a mature kind of masculine presence around me while I “healed.”
So she’s bawling her gentle eyes out, and I cannot name myself or this experience. Yet, I am likely in love with this sobbing woman.
In her tent later, we cry in each other’s arms. We taste one another’s tears and kiss each other’s wounds. Her flowing hair has me all wound up.
The birds are starting to settle down for the night. Yes, I am in love with this woman.